


Starry Night

by anorak13



Category: Captain - Fandom, Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 21:29:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8029534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anorak13/pseuds/anorak13
Summary: After the events of Civil War, Steve practices his singing so he can serenade Bucky while he sleeps in the Wakandan lab. Flashbacks show Steve discovering America through Youtube and a particular Simon & Garfunkel song.





	Starry Night

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the Don McLean lyrics included below, I merely listened to the song, was struck by inspiration, copied them out to the best of my abilities and changed the name Vincent to Bucky.

Steve returned to his room, sore after a sparring bout with T’Challa. Small, sleek, and stream-lined by years of technological advancements, the room still maintained a sense of home, provided, perhaps, by the few personal objects he’d rescued from the Avengers Compound before the prison break —a picture of Peggy, a drawing commissioned from T’Challa’s three year old niece Sha’ri, and an iPod Classic with the original headphones— reminders of friends and of Bucky’s absence. Sam had pre-loaded the iPod with the albums of Marvin Gaye and other essentials musicians for survival in the 21st century —Janelle Monaé, Frank Ocean, Beyonce, Justin Timberlake, and Taylor Swift— a collection Steve rounded out with a more historical collection —Frank Sinatra, Benny Goodman, and Duke Ellington.

One evening, after Washington, Steve had typed “America“ into the Google search bar, as he was occasionally wont to do, and clicked on page 13. Scrolling through the video options, he discovered Simon and Garfunkel’s reflective folk song and clicked, a decision which spiraled into an hour of cover versions and his own search for an America long since gone. When Sam came looking, wondering why Steve was not at dinner, he found him blurry-eyed, not from binge-watching, but from tears welling deep within his chest and spilling down his cheeks. In the way so many discover life-changing videos on Youtube, Steve stumbled upon a rendition sung by a man whose tenor-baritone voice perfectly reflected his own nostalgia, world-weariness, and desire for a better tomorrow; a man who made the world stop and everything else fall away, at least while he sang.

“You ok, man?“ Sam asked, uncertain if he should enter the room. Steve didn’t move; glancing at the screen, Sam understood. “I remember my first Josh Groban song. Man, I did not look pretty after that. Well, who’re we kidding, I still looked pretty, but his voice touched me and I ugly cried. Listening to his songs feels like getting hugged by a chocolate bar.“ Steve laughed quietly, wiping the last few tears away.

Breathing deeply, Steve flexed his muscles and entered the room. “Shower, please“ he spoke into the empty room, and water poured from the ceiling in the back corner, already adjusted to his preferred post-workout temperature; steam filled the room. It never ceased to amaze Steve just how far the world had come during his time in the ice; an amazement dwarfed by his admiration for Wakandan technology. T’Challa had gotten a good laugh when he tried to show Steve how to navigate the palace and it’s many computer networks and devices. Secretly, Steve had been pleased to see that T’Challa could laugh, but his confusion soon got the better of him and tech training was left behind for the sparring room.

T’Challa had not smiled there, nor had Steve. They never did, choosing instead to throw up up masks of determination, neither man telegraphing their next move. Sometimes their spats lasted only a few minutes, with one of them gaining the upper hand; other times the boughts lasted what seemed like hours. Both masters of hand-to-hand combat, a respect had grown between the new king and the old soldier that went beyond professional formalities. Steve called T’Challa “your Highness“ with less frequently, and T’Challa in return replaced Captain Rogers with the less formal Captain. In agreement that the politics surrounding the Accords was not to their liking, a partnership formed. Impressed with Steve’s loyalty, T’Challa agreed to provide Steve’s Secret Avengers with a base from which to save the world from the shadows.

While he appreciated a place to rest his head, Steve often felt like a nomad, stateless and waiting to return to his home, a home lying in a cryo-chamber three floors below. Watching the glass freeze over Bucky’s face nearly broke Steve’s heart.

“Play Josh Groban“ prompted Steve as he stepped under the water flinching a bit at the heat. His long showers provided the perfect cover and in secret he had perfected his singing voice. Years spent in the army review had taught Steve to keep a beat and he had always carried a tune, if in a somewhat tentative voice. Science, Raji and the other doctors informed Steve, confirmed that Bucky could not hear the outside world within his cryo-coma, but they confided that it couldn’t hurt for Steve to visit every now and then to talk.

And he did. Steve wished Bucky good morning and good night, kept him up-to-date on world affairs, and made sure someone else would do the same when he was away on missions. At first the others kept their distance out of respect, but Steve occasionally saw T’Challa standing outside the chamber deep in thought. Hawkeye would stop by with a joke and Scott with a drum. Wanda reached out to Bucky’s mind and assured Steve that for the moment he was at peace, and once, Steve was certain he heard Sam say something nice. His friends’ support kept his hope alive that Raji and their colleagues could restore the former Howling Commando and remove the layers of Hydra’s brainwashing.

Early that morning, after a run (it still annoyed Sam when he called “On your left!“), Steve welcomed the new day with Bucky, but his tone was different. Had Bucky stood next to Steve, he would have sworn there was a hint of nervousness in the corner of Steve’s voice, barely perceptible, even to long time friends.

Today Steve planned to sing to Bucky. He had prepared an entire repertoire of songs, just in case, but in his gut, Steve knew he would sing only one. Toweling off after his shower, Steve hummed the melody, mouthing the worlds as he stepped into jeans and a t-shirt. Steve was sure T’Challa would have found him an instrument if he’d asked, but something felt right about singing acapella, just the words, himself, and Bucky.

The halls were quiet as he descended to the research wing. As the doors slid open on unseen tracks, Raji and the other doctors left. They were used to Steve’s unannounced visits and always paid him the respect of withdrawing.

Standing in front of the chamber, staring at Bucky’s frozen, peaceful face, Steve, the man who could stand up to injustice all day, nearly lost his nerve. He took a deep breath, to steady himself, and began to sing.

 _Starry, starry night_  
_Paint your palette blue and grey_  
_Look out on a summer's day_  
_With eyes that know the darkness in my soul_  
_Shadows on the hills_  
_Sketch the trees and daffodils_  
_Catch the breeze and the winter chills_  
_In colors on the snowy linen land_

At first, his voice was quiet, but by then end of the second line, it rang out, bouncing off the walls. Memories swirled in his mind, and tears came to his eyes as he remembered their friendship and what Hydra has done to Bucky. Each line was laced with layers of meaning, a story in which on two could share, only two could understand.

 _Now I understand_  
_What you tried to say to me_  
_And how you suffered for your sanity_  
_And how you tried to set them free_  
_They would not listen_  
_They did not know how_  
_Perhaps they'll listen now_

 _Starry, starry night_  
_Flaming flowers that brightly blaze_  
_Swirling clouds and violet haze_  
_Reflect in Bucky's eyes of china blue_  
_Colors changing hue_  
_Morning fields of amber grain_  
_Weathered faces lined in pain_  
_Are soothed beneath the artists' loving hand_

 _Now I understand_  
_What you tried to say to me_  
_And how you suffered for your sanity_  
_And how you tried to set them free_  
_They would not listen_  
_They did not know how_  
_Perhaps they'll listen now_

 _For they could not love you_  
_But still your love was true_  
_And when no hope was left inside_  
_On that starry, starry night_  
_You took your life as lovers often do_  
_But I could have told you Bucky_  
_This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you_

 _Like the strangers that you've met_  
_The ragged men in ragged clothes_  
_The silver thorn of bloody rose_  
_Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow_

 _Now I think I know_  
_What you tried to say to me_  
_And how you suffered for your sanity_  
_And how you tried to set them free_  
_They would not listen_  
_They're not listening still_  
_Perhaps they never will..._


End file.
